Capitol Girl  A Hunger Games Prequel
by Cassidy Drew
Summary: Rhinestone Allistair lives in the Capitol of Panem with her two gluttonous parents and her brother, Cinna, who has just been given the job of stylist of the female tribute for District Twelve.   Watch the Hunger Games through Rhinestone's eyes.
1. I  Candy

_Capitol Girl_

_The world is going to melt._

_No one believes me but my brother. Of course not. I'm just that girl who isn't quite right in the head._

Mother sits on our robins-egg-blue couch and adjusts her bright magenta wig. I think that she looks like a balloon. All puffed up by cosmetic surgery. Father snacks on items like cookies and things like that. My older brother has locked himself away in his room. A typical day in our household.

I peer around the kitchen threshold, my cheeks stinging from the ornaments within them. When I was very small, my mother had decided that I was too plain. She carted me off to a scary white room. Two attendants dyed my skin bright tangerine orange. And just last week, she took me back there and had gems implanted in my cheeks and also down my left arm. I didn't even get any anesthetic. It was a very painful experience that still hurts today.

Mother doesn't notice me staring at her, her eyes glued to the sphere shaped television screen. I tiptoe out into the open towards the ceiling-to-floor windows that provide the east wall of our house.

Everything outside looks like candy. Some would call it beautiful. I think it's sickly, like the effects of tracker-jacker venom. The bright colors hurt my eyes.

Outside the sun has begun to set. The light from the sinking sun shines through the buildings, staining the patchwork roads purple and pink and yellow, as though the buildings are made of stained glass. I am entranced. A pair of sturdy arms encircles me, making me jump. I stare up into my brother's green eyes - the only natural color around here. "Dinnertime, Rhine." He says into my ear. His grip on me falters. I hear his footsteps fade into the kitchen.

My fingers are tracing the swirled patterns on our wall. I have decided not to move for a while.

I have used my years to memorize the streets I see before me. There is the box where Janie lives. And way over there is President Snow's mansion. There is where the train brings in the goods from the districts. Father walks up behind me now. "Rhinestone," he says sternly, "It's time to eat now. Go to the table." I reach up and wipe some of the powdered sugar from his donut off of his strawberry red lip.

Dinner is not one of my favorite times. Mother uses her chartreuse talons of fingernails to press in whatever she's been craving. After that, the food comes out of nowhere. Beyond that, it's extremely dull. My brother and I sit together. He's never been one of those older brothers that are mean - like the ones I've seen on TV - he's always gentle, or maybe that's because I'm fragile, from how I've seen him treat his friends, it's definitely natural. It makes me feel happy.

Like every night, he and I stare at our plates until our dinner arrives. Then we look at each other and share a look of exasperation. We're despicable.

Father, as usual, digs right into his soup like the glutton he is. Mother tries to start off real ladylike, but then she gives in and her wig almost falls in the soup.

I take a tentative sip. From the strange texture, I know it's something I've never eaten before. I drift off slightly with the tang of it lingering on my tongue.

I turn around to see Janie. She's special because only my brother and I can see her.

Mother says she is my imaginary friend. I always snort and turn to eat my soup or something else of the sorts. The soup tonight is one of her particular favorites.

I always share it with Janie. Janie is an Avox, that's why she won't talk to Mother or Father. She likes me and my brother.

My particular likeness of Janie is how plain and untouched she is. Straight, orange hair, freckles, and brown eyes. Mine are brown too, but they move freely of each other.

Mother thinks it's awful. I stick my tongue out at her turned back and then act real innocent when she turns back around to face me.

Nobody has noticed that I'd left for a few seconds. Except maybe my brother. From the expression on his face, he was talking about something, and my mother is chattering to father about something. Probably about my brother. He's gotten a job as a stylist or something.

"What for?" I ask him.

"I got a job as a stylist for the Hunger Games." He replies, all calm the way he always is. 

_So__that__'__s__what__you__'__ve__been__doing__in__your__room__for__so__long._"Which district?" I ask, really morbidly curious unlike my petty mother.

"District Twelve. I asked personally for it."

I guess the look on my face gives away my opinion on it because his eyes downcast in embarrassment.

"But, but, you won't have a lot to work with," I sputter. "District Twelve is _coal._"

His lips show a hint of a smile. "I think I can turn it into something better than that."

I consider it. "I _know_you can, Cinna."

After dinner, my brother takes me to his bedroom.

At first, I am brutally surprised at how messy it is.

Cinna is usually so neat and tidy.

There are now sketchbooks strewn across the floor. He picks up one with leather binding.

"This is my particular favorite," he says quietly. I hold it up carefully, frightened to break the fragile leather. On the first page, there is a picture of two faceless people swathed in ugly coal jumpsuits,

"The tributes," I murmur, looking up at him.

He nods, "I don't really like the way that looks though. I'm going to work on some adjustments with my partner Portia. We need to find out who the tributes are first."

Lucky him, the reaping is next week.

I continue to flip through the sketchbook. The designs are so exquisite, I am sure that all of the Capitol will sponsor the tributes.

I realize that I am yawning.

I stand up; give Cinna a hug and skip-hop back to my room. I dream of Cinna and his two nameless tributes, both of them winning their Hunger Games which is when I know that it is a dream because it's impossible.


	2. II  Stylist

When I wake up, there are three new people at our house. Mother looks mad and pleased about it; she's wearing a lemon yellow wig and too much makeup. Father must still be asleep, for the house does not yet smell like snack food.

Cinna is introducing everyone new as his prep team.

I watch them all from around the kitchen threshold. There is a short plump one who is bright pea green; I think her name is Octavia. Over top of her skin is a heavy layer of makeup in a range of colors.

Her hair is the exact color of the inside of a ripe grapefruit, and is styled into elaborate curls the size of my fist.

She notices me staring so I find another target for my eyes. The other lady, I don't remember her name, has hair the color of a man from a poster in mother's room's eye color. The man from the poster's name is stuck on my tongue.

The aqua-haired-lady has gold tattoos that almost completely replace her nearly invisible eyebrows.

She is talking to a man wearing more makeup than my mother. He has bright orange corkscrew curls that brush his shoulders and a layer of purple - almost magenta - lipstick artfully spread on his mouth.

They're like my family and I should be used to their appearance as it's so normal but they look so queer that I can't stop staring at them, filling my eyes with their presence.

The contrast between them and my brother is staggering.

And then he is pointing at me, "This is my little sister Rhinestone." I know I'm blushing. My face feels to hot to not be.

I hope I'm orange enough that no one will notice.

The aqua-haired-lady ushers Octavia towards me as though I'm a foreign cat or something.

The aqua-haired-lady pats my head in the way my mother's friends did when I was little,

"Hello, my name is Venia." She says it really slow like I'm stupid and she is educating me.

I stand on tiptoes so I can see her right in the artificial purple eye, "Hello, my name is Rhine." I say even slower than she did. Venia doesn't seem to get it; she walks over to where Octavia is standing and pushes her towards me. I put as much venom in my stare as I can muster; I even take a little bit of pleasure watching Octavia's eyes dilate.

"Hi, I'm Octavia," she says.

"Hi Octavia," I say politely, because she didn't say it slowly. "I'm Rhine and I like your name," It's true, I do. I watch silently while a small smile plays on her lips.

"Flavius and I were talking," Venia cuts in, "and we wanted Cinna to tell us what his ideas were about makeup, and then we'd try them on you. What do you think?"

Ick, that's what I think.

But now I see the excitement on Octavia's face, and I decide I like her.

I nod, hoping my feelings haven't ended up in a scowl on my face.

We spend the next two hours in my mother's personal bathroom, splashing about half of her mess of makeup on my face. Flavius, the man with orange hair, brought this weird little frock for me to wear: "It'll look fabulous on you." He said.

I have to admit, for my big brother, he is an absolute genius with makeup. My eyes are huge in the mirror, framed with long eyelashes. Venia made my orange skin look like a sunset.

I reach up and Cinna a kiss on the cheek.

I'm glad Flavius hasn't done anything to my hair except turn it into a mirror image of Octavia's hair but in my regular copper color.

My nails look like small paintings of orange waves with jewel hints like shells that have decided to bob on the surface.

"Thank you Octavia," I whisper.

The prep team stays for dinner.

Octavia likes food. I know it sounds weird to say that, but she likes anything. She eats the entire appetizer and the entire main course, and all of the dessert, even some of mine.

I almost choke giggling. Everyone - except Cinna who appears to be surpassing a smile - is looking at me like I'm crazy. Flavius brings up the Hunger Games in the dinnertime chatter and Mother blathers on about some of the previous victors. That's when I remember the poster-man's name. Finnick Odair. I smile at Mother in a small way, a weird reason to smile, but it feels good to have that problem off of my tongue.

We wave them good-bye at the door. Octavia gives me a kiss on the cheek. I give Flavius a half-hearted hug because he smells funny and I even give Venia a small and friendly nod.

Mother likes to pose for photographs. Cinna is interviewed at our house today. The camera crew that shows up is loud and unruly so I take to my room and hide under a pillow, hoping to not be discovered. Eventually my curiosity gets the better of me; I crawl over to the door and spy through a crack just past the threshold. Mother is sticking out her hip and sucking in her cheeks in the background of Cinna's interview. Suddenly the worlds turned upside down and I realize I've rolled over laughing. I sneak another peek. Father is watching Mother with an expression that makes his round face the same shade as his fire-truck-red hair.

I lie on my stomach on my bed, wondering when the stupid crew is going to leave and when I will finally get some peace and quiet. There isn't much to do in here. I feel like a bug trapped in a tiny box.

Finally after attacking my wall out of boredom, I stomach myself and push open my door. Twenty pairs of eyes train on me. I know I don't matter, but why are they staring at me like I'm going to spontaneously combust?

Cinna clears his throat, "Err, yes. This is my sister, Rhinestone."

That settles them. No-one is staring at me anymore. All attention is back on Cinna. I peer around a particularly beefy camera-man and mouth, _Thank__you._He nods slightly to tell me I've been acknowledged by him, and then turns back to the woman he's talking to. I stare at her. Her hair looks like a turquoise colored bell that's been molded around her head. I purposely bump her with my hip when I walk past her towards the kitchen. When I glance over my shoulder at her she's looking daggers at me, but it looks ridiculous as my gesture jostled her "hair" halfway off of her head. I root through the cupboards and snatch up a fizzy looking bottle of pink juice and a packet of my father's cookies. I trot back to the couch where I pretend nothing's happened - or happen_ing_- and happily eat my snack. Every so often, I steal a glance over my shoulder, Cinna looks exasperated, and my mother looks fake, so it's pretty much just a boring afternoon.

They finally leave when the sun goes down, Cinna flops down on the couch next to me in a way that is very unlike him. He tries to say something, but his voice comes out raspy and mother fusses over him. He sits tall and straight like a Peacekeeper while mother goes and taps in the code for hot tea with lemon. Cinna sits quietly and sips at his tea, not saying anything.

When he's done, he places his arm around my shoulder and says, "I don't think I can handle these people."

Mother sneers at him, "You have to. You're a stylist now. Don't be a baby."

"Well," Cinna sighs, "Tomorrow I'll meet Portia for lunch. Do you want to come?"

Mother looks flattered, but then she realizes he's talking to me.


	3. III Sketchbooks

Portia is quiet and sweet, like Cinna.

She has a dirty blond ponytail and hazel eyes.

We meet her at one of mother's favorite restaurants that specializes in cooking birds.

As they eat their chicken-salad sandwiches at our outside table, I lean in and say, "You two should get married." And then they both crack up. They talk and talk, and it seems endless and irritating. Finally, Cinna pulls out his sketchbook and shows her his drawings. He's added more since I saw them. Portia smiles, flipping through the pages before producing her own sketchbook, identical to Cinna's except that it was bound in green leather instead of brown. She pointed one out, "I want to incorporate something with fire. Because that's what we use coal for, right?"

Cinna smiles now, "Me too, I have a similar sketch, but it's at home."

I have an idea, "Why don't you dress them the same? You have the same idea."

Cinna and Portia nod, she speaks up, "That's a very nice idea."

Then they huddle together and talk about synthetic materials. I turn around and talk to Janie.

"Hello Janie." I say politely. Janie nods in response.

"How are you today?" She tilts her hand up and down, _so-so_ she means.

"Cinna's been made a stylist for the Hunger Games." She claps her hands to her cheeks, smiling. "But, he's got District Twelve." Janie looks scandalized. "Oh, come off of it. He's going to do something with fire." She taps her slim finger on her chin, _hmmm._ Then someone is ringing a bell in the distance, Janie has to go back to work in her box. I wave her good-bye.

I turn back around in my chair, Portia is staring at me.

Cinna explains politely about my condition.

"Oh." She says, "The little girl is a little off of her head."

Cinna frowns and nods, "I'd prefer you didn't refer to it like that."

"Sorry." Portia says to me and Cinna. "I was just messing."

"Yes," I say abruptly, "You are messy." And they both crack up again.

A day passes, and no paparazzi come to pester Cinna. I feel blissful to have my brother back, no crazy stylist madness. He's locked himself up in his room again, planning. When he finally lets me in, I see more drawings scattered on the ground. "Cinna," I say, "Am I interfering with your work." He talks, but doesn't turn, "No. The shipments of material should be here soon. You can be my model."


	4. IV Fabric

Cinna is very good at what he does. I must say. He has the gift of gentle hands.

My body threatens to fall asleep as I stand on the makeshift platform he's made for me. He never pricks me, and he never pulls to hard on my hair or my arms and legs.

The material he's chosen is black, elastic, and extremely shiny. I'd probably hold out longer during measurements if it weren't so entrancing. Janie and I have snuck into Cinna's room several times to try and feel it while he's sleeping. He's caught us twice.

Speaking of Janie, here she is now.

"Hello Janie."

Cinna nods towards her as well.

"How are you today?" Because I always ask this of her.

She clutches at her stomach.

"Oh. That's unfortunate." I look at Cinna. "She has a stomach ache."

He grunts a little around a mouth full of pins. His face shows only focus and slight frustration.

"So," I say, holding out my arms slightly, "How do I look?"

Cinna's head lifts as well.

Janie sticks out her hip and points her lips out.

"I thought so." I nod, "I knew I looked fabulous."

Janie laughs.

"Janie. Do you ever wish you could be a peacock, all primped and beautiful?"

I stare at her, patiently awaiting her reply.  
>Her freckled face goes all weird, and her eyes rove around.<p>

She pretends to throttle herself.

"I'll take that as a no." And I laugh.

And then I have to stop talking because Cinna has accidently jabbed me with a pin.

Cinna has made five different sizes of a black jumpsuit. They're fitted for any kind of body shape, slim, fat, busty.

Cinna told me that he's going to light the headdress on fire after the prep team is finished with them. Ha. I feel bad for the female tribute. I hope they don't talk her ear of too much. I might even get to meet her. Slim chances, but you know, maybe.

Cinna made a jumpsuit that is small enough to fit me. He says that I could keep it, depending on the size of the tribute. I sure do hope, out of selfishness, that whoever the tribute is isn't twelve.

The rest of the week passes and District 1 through 10 have been reaped. Cinna has passed out two times at meals - breakfast and dinner - out of fatigue, and nearly burned his face on the hot rice.

Janie is knocking at the door with a basket of cookies for Cinna. She's rather sweet on him, I think. Poor Janie. Poor Cinna. Poor me, unless I get my jumpsuit.

I think about when me and Cinna were small, we'd play around the house, me wearing black toddler clothes with the same fabric as the kind Cinna's jumpsuits are made of. He'd run around nimbly, and I'd try to follow on my chubby feet, often falling. I remember screaming with laughter, even as I fell. I sigh, through one of Janie's cookies. She's such a good cook.

"Rhinestone!" a shrill voice brings me back to earth, "Rhinestone! What are you eating? I don't see anything in your hand! Turn on the television, I'd like to see the reaping!" I heed my mother's commands, leaning forward and bringing the screen to life with the touch of a switch. The loud noises and brightness overwhelm me and I cover my ears with my hands.

The reaping of Eleven is still on, I watch as a girl my age, "RUE WILLARD!" is called, it's sad to watch, you can hear a pin drop because no-one is going to applaud or volunteer for her. My throat catches, and I feel pity for the girl as I watch the silent tears drip down her cheeks. She looks like she's made of bird bones.

Next they call "THRESH DONNOVAN!" and this tall muscular boy with the same dark complexion and dark hair as the girl comes up to the platform with an uncomfortable expression on his face. He reminds me of my stuffed animal cow. Then they smash cut to the Panem anthem and crest and the screen fades to black.

We have to wait another day for District 12 and Cinna hasn't slept a wink. His eyes have dark circles. Its mother that suggests he puts something else on his face to distract from the circles. He wanders back to his room and comes back with gold eyeliner on his eyes, the kind he used when he was he was 13, around my age, when it was fashionable to wear metallic eyeliner.

Tomorrow Cinna will leave to help with the chariots of District Twelve. He needs to leave at 2:30 sharp in the morning. And if I want to see him again, I'll have to get up superbly early too.

Mother doesn't care though. She decides that she's going to throw a party tonight, and invite everyone that Cinna knows well.

I take a short nap at around noon and wake up to find the house smells overwhelmingly of snack food and spirits. I wander out of my room with my night shirt hanging off of my bare shoulders and my hair disheveled. I find ten sets of eyes staring back at me, and I emit a high pitched squeak.

Octavia pulls me back into my room, and pulls a peach colored dress from out of her sleeve. Or somewhere. She tells me to put it on and hands me a brush.

I come back out of my room five minutes later, the peach colored dress is itchy and covered in minuscule lights that move and blink whenever it shifts. It's pretty, but it isn't comfortable at all.

Flavius walks up to me and says "Oh my goodness, Venia, isn't she just _precious_?" And I cringe, and stick my tongue out at him when his back is turned. I watch his curls bounce as he walks off.

I sit on the couch which is covered in strangers, and try to process my situation. This place smells like bitter and dry liquid, which I now find out is called _wine_. Mother will not allow me to turn on the television and I become bored and start kicking the air with my feet.

This is stupid. Why do _I_ have to be here? This is unfair. At least Cinna is happy.

I turn around and sit on my knees and watch Cinna over the back of the sofa. He is happily mingling with his friends and taking sips of this small fluted glass.

Octavia is walking around tipsily, and Venia seems to have passed out on the kitchen counter. Flavius is doing the jig with my mother in front of the big window.

I find myself laughing, and I find Cinna's warm laugh has joined in as well. This whole thing is so ridiculous. Everyone is so drunk.

Octavia stumbles towards me, and gives me a hug. The smell of alcohol on her breath almost makes me want to throw up. But I stomach it.

"Thank you baby." She croons in my ear, "Thank you baby, I looovvee youuu…." She squeezes me to the point that I think she's going to crush me.

And then she abruptly releases me, and floats down to the ground, unconscious.

As the night goes by, I watch the colors flash by as I sit in my same spot on the couch. I watch as stranger after stranger walks out the door, and eventually the prep team. Then I stare out the window as the moon dances.

"Look Mama … the stars are singing."

And it all goes black. |


End file.
